A Prophecy Fulfilled
by lambofcairo
Summary: The prophecy of the Necromongers is fulfilled and the new Lord Marshall has risen. But there are other monsters for Riddick to face, including some from his past. Ongoing, please R&R!
1. Prologue: Entrance

**Title:** "Prologue: Entrance"  
**Author:** Lane  
**Word count:** 6,970  
**Rating:** R. Violence, Language, Sexuality  
**Summary:** Set sometime before tCoR, the time will reveal itself later. An introduction to our world, a memory and a dire situation. Maddox Kincaide, Benu and Riddick.

Darkness.

A blackness so thick and so overwhelming that for a moment Maddox thought she was drowning in it. It was as though the air had become a liquid that had settled in her lungs and smothered her. She felt drugged, heavy and disoriented.

Had it truly been so long since she had traveled in cryo-sleep that she had completely forgotten what it felt like? Sure, it had been years since she had been in deep space on a starship, but this...this was not like anything she could recall. _Maybe they're using a new serum,_ part of her brain said as it lolled back in her head. _Or maybe they're drugging you instead of letting you free,_ said the other part of her consciousness before it was silenced by confusion.

She felt so tired. Like she could just sleep forever. Like she had worked a full day for the corps and needed a good night's rest. Like she had spent a week in the hole and couldn't remember when it was day and when it was night. Like she had spent an hour with the guards and wanted to forget what it was like to feel anything at all. So damn tired...

_Wake up!_ A voice inside her head practically screamed as she started to drift back off again. Whether it was her animal instincts or some primal need to survive, Maddox couldn't be sure, but whatever it was her eyes slowly fluttered open and began to try and focus.

Somewhere nearby a woman was weeping. What a sound that was, so alien and out of place. _I wonder if today's Tuesday,_ she thought as she listened to the sound, savoring the delicate rise and fall of the feminine crying. Tuesday was always they day that they brought new inmates into the slam, tossing them into general population for an hour or two to get their cherries busted. Most of the time the convicts were already hardened criminals, men or women who were seasoned veterans of the penal system, stone cold killers, thieves and liars, the galaxy's finest. But sometimes the new man or woman on the block was a virgin to the slam and broke down within those first few hours. Sometimes they cried or screamed or begged for mercy as they were bullied, beaten or worse. But more often than not they just took the first day in silent stride, accepting the hand that fate had dealt them. The ones who wept rarely lasted past the first month unless one of the "governors" claimed them for his or her own. Prison made you strong or it killed you; there was simply no room for weakness.

_It's not Tuesday,_ the voice said again. _And you're not on Tangiers anymore. You're free. Get up. Move. Go!_

That was when it clicked. She had been released. "Early parole for outstanding behavior," the warden had announced to her as he led her out of the slam towards the skiff. Two other inmates were being led out as well; they were being given a one way ticket anywhere in the galaxy they wanted. The prison skiff would meet up with a larger transport vessel just outside the planet's orbit and then they would officially be free. Master of her own destiny. A free woman, not just a number. It was refreshing and too good to be true; Maddox didn't believe it for one minute.

So when she finally opened her eyes and found chains around her wrists and feet she was hardly surprised. "Mutherfuckers," she muttered under her breath as she looked around and saw a hold full of men and women similarly bound, many of them in the process of waking up from cryo-sleep. Further down the line someone sounded sick; then there came the rancid smell of vomit.

"Must be a bad dose of serum," Maddox mumbled to no one in particular.

"They put drugs in the serum," a woman's eloquent voice said right next to her. The former convict turned and looked at the speaker. She was not expecting to see a beautiful young woman with long black hair, delicate features and exotic almond shaped eyes. If they were on a ship bound for another slam then this was the strangest group of prisoners she'd ever seen before in her life.

"Where they taking us?" Maddox asked the woman, slowly becoming more cognizant of her surroundings.

"I am uncertain," she replied, glancing around as well at the others around them. "But I believe it may be Taurus 3." Maddox's brow furrowed in confusion. There was no penal colony on Taurus 3 at all. "They are slavers," the woman said, answering the question that Maddox had yet to ask. "We are being taken to market."

The realization of the woman's words caught her off-guard and confusion set in once again. When had her ship been hijacked? How long had they been in cryo-sleep? Why in god's name would slavers pick up a marked prison ship carrying convicts?

"How do you know all this?" She asked of the dark woman suddenly, suspicion kicking into overdrive. "If we've all been in cryo, how is it that you know what's going on?"

A hint of pain and other, darker emotions passed through the beautiful woman's eyes briefly before disappearing. "They've kept some of us awake," she answered quietly. "For other purposes."

The unspoken meaning of her words hung heavily in the air and Maddox nodded. Lovely as the exotic woman was there would be little doubt that the slavers would take advantage of her. Rape was not an uncommon occurrence in the slam, but picturing this soft, beautiful creature falling victim to the coarse desires of a slaver made even the ex-inmate uncomfortable. She may have been hardened by years in the system, but some things could still trigger an emotional response other than pure survival.

"Benu," the woman next to her said after a moment of silence, leaning in as much as the chains would allow. "I am Benu."

"Maddox Kincaide," she replied with a slight nod. Pleasant as all this small talk was, she was a bit distracted by trying to figure out the locking mechanism for her cuffs.

"The slavers said that you're from a prison vessel," Benu said, her voice remaining soft, just barely above a whisper. "They say that you're coming from the Tangiers Penal Colony."

"That's right," Maddox said. Her brow furrowed as she moved her hand around at an odd angle, trying to get a better grip at the weak link that she felt on her chains. If unlocking them wasn't an option, maybe breaking them was.

"Why were you in the slam?" Benu asked, looking at the redhead next to her in a slightly different light.

"Well," Maddox grumbled as she shifted her hands up to the top of the metal loop where large bolts kept the u-shaped bar bound to the ceiling above. "It's complicated." She pressed the weak link against one of those bolts, trying several times before she finally caught the slight crack on the edge of the hardware.

Benu chuckled mirthlessly and watched the woman next to her strangely. "I don't think we're going anywhere for a while," she replied. "Despite your attempts to the contrary."

Maddox sighed and glanced over at the dark beauty, not the least bit amused at her pronouncement. "Look, lady," she said dryly. "You get sold into slavery and some rich old man is going to buy you for arm candy. Me? Not so much." She pulled the weak spot against the bolt edge, feeling it begin to give way a bit more accompanied by a barely audible creaking. "Now, you might be looking forward to spending the rest of your natural life as the pampered concubine of some outworld plantation owner, but I could deal without hard labor or pit fighting until I die."

"You never answered my question," Benu pressed, her eyes flitting back and forth between Maddox's face and her chains. "Why were you in the slam?"

For a moment the redhead fell silent, simply concentrating on the task of breaking her bindings. She could feel her wrists growing damp with the effort and she realized that she wasn't sure if the dampness was from blood or sweat. "Well, if you believe the hype, I was in the slam for killing a man," Maddox grunted, pressing hard on the bolt until at last she could feel the link in the chain crack and start to pull open. One last good yank and she heard it creak again. It had been pried apart. Quickly she grabbed a hold of the chains on either side of the link and pulled them loose, pocketing the single weak metal link. She lowered her arms and rubbed gingerly at her broad shoulders, sore from being raised so long. A small bit of blood trickled down her forearms from beneath the cuffs on her wrists and Benu looked at her in shock as she stepped out of line with all the other captives. "So when they ask you who your cellmate was you can tell them you slept next to a killer, sweetheart," she said with a smirk and a flippant salute.

"Wait!" Benu called out behind her desperately. A few people turned groggily to look at the tall redhead who was running down the corridor, but most were still heavily drugged or sleeping. Not that Maddox cared too much; all she had to do was find a place in the ship to hide until they hit the surface and then she'd be gone. The slavers probably wouldn't even check on their cargo until after they'd been planetside for an hour or two anyway. After all, they had to make sure that the market was ripe and, if not, then those unlucky souls would just be put back into cryo and taken to another world.

She came to the end of the corridor and placed her ear against the door, listening for any sound or movement. All was silent on the other side and she slowly slid the bay door open, looking around her. Hallways led to the left and the right; she took the left, shut the door behind her and began to move quickly and quietly down the metal corridors.

It had been a long time since she'd been asked that question and she mulled over it as she crept along with her back up against the wall. In the slam everyone knew what crimes another prisoner had been convicted of, the prison gossips were worse than a bunch of little old ladies in that sense. For three years it had been an understood fact: she was "Mad" Maddox Kincaide, a former member of Sigma 3's elite Strikeforce who had been thrown in the slam for killing one of her fellow squad mates. Rumor around the block was that she had gone crazy during the Wailing Wars and ended up disemboweling another officer. Others spoke of the fact that she was from a tribe of canibals on a small backwater planet and that she had actually eaten her victim. Whatever the case was, after her first month people tended to leave her alone. Her quiet countenance and killer's reputation combined with her unusual looks – long red dreadlocks, a sleek muscular build and large tattoo that snaked its way across her broad shoulders – tended to keep people from wanting to ask too many questions anyway. Besides, everyone had something to hide in the slam; they wouldn't be in lockdown if they didn't.

However, the truth of the matter was far less interesting than the myth. Maddox's stint in the penal system was a punishment alright, but not for killing anyone. Her only mistake had been trying to save the life of an old friend. But, given the state of the galaxy these days, compassion might as well have been a death sentence.

Rounding the corner, the escapee finally found what she was looking for. The panel in the floor of the corridor was barely three feet square but the markings painted on its corner clearly labeled it as an electrical passage. Given the size of the vessel they were in, the passage would be just wide enough for an engineer to move through but small enough that it wouldn't take up excess space on the already cramped ship. Maddox could hide here until they were planetside and, once the slavers were off ship, she could make a run for it.

Disuse had made the hinges on the panel rusty and hard to pry open, but Maddox was strong. After a moment's struggle she hefted the door up and slid down into the ill-lit shaft that was lined on both sides with hundreds of different colored wires. Pulling the panel carefully shut behind her the ex-convict moved as far down the narrow passage as she could. Safe at last, she sank down to the ground and leaned back against the cool metal grating that made up the floor. Her green eyes closed as exhaustion finally took over and she realized that the drugs from cryo were probably still flowing through her system. _Better sleep now while you can,_ the voice in the back of her head said. _There'll be no rest for the wicked later._

_-----------------------------------------------------------------_

Night on Aquila Major was full of activity. Heraklion, the capital city of the metropolitan world, was full of hustling as people left their homes and jobs seeking out pleasure in restaurants, shops, clubs and other areas of amusement. From the well lit, chrome drenched streets of North City to the dangerous areas of the slums Heraklion seemed to come alive with throngs of humanity, vehicles and the noise that accompanied them.

For the exhausted Lieutenant, however, the only thing she had lined up for this Friday evening was a long, hot shower and a full night's rest.

Maddox kicked the door to the apartment closed behind her and set her bag down on the table in her tiny kitchen. She had not even had the opportunity to change out of her uniform yet, having only recently arrived planetside again. Her leave of absence was only for a week and, while there were certainly things she wanted to get done back here in the city, it could all wait until she was clean and looking like a civilian.

As she passed by the mirror in the bedroom she paused briefly to look at the image that greeted her. Her long red dreadlocks were pulled back and braided neatly into a single plait that hung to the small of her back, which was the only way the Company had agreed to let her keep her tribal-style hair. Her dark grey uniform was cut in the military style, broadening her shoulders while drawing the eye away from the curves of her hips and chest. She wore no jewelry and no makeup, shoes polished to a high shine and the black military cap that was so distinctive to the Strikeforce team. For months now it had been her primary outfit outside of her working camos. _By the gods,_ she thought as she pulled off her jacket and cap tossing them onto the bed,_ I need to find another job._

It had been so long since she was home that it had taken her a minute to get the hot water running in the shower. But once the steam started to fog up the mirror over the vanity she could feel the tense muscles in her shoulders and legs relaxing. The grime that came from travel washed away much easier than the blood she often returned from the field sporting and after just a few short moments Maddox found that she was already clean from head to toe. Long showers were a luxury she had become unaccustomed to and she almost felt guilty as she stood under the hot liquid, letting it cascade down her form. After all, the last time she had lingered so long in this shower she hadn't been alone and that had been almost two years ago.

That thought had come unbidden and she immediately regretted it. The flood of memories washed over her like a wave, remembrances of dark hands moving over her skin slick with soap, feverish kisses that left her gasping for air and the cool tile against her back while a warm weight pressed against her front. Her insides tightened instinctively and she closed her eyes, fighting off the mixed emotions that followed the memory. Pushing her hand against the wall she leaned down and turned the hot water off, letting the suddenly cold liquid shock her into the present. Maybe a shower wasn't the best idea. He was gone, out of her life forever. Sent off to a slam where he'd never see the light of day again. If she were smart she'd just forget about him and move on.

Stepping out into the cool air of the bathroom Maddox grabbed for a towel and began to quickly dry off. She rang out her dreads over the sink so that they were no longer soaking wet and separated them with her fingers. She rubbed her hand over the fogged up bathroom mirror and looked at herself, finally clean with her hair let down. For the first time in ages she actually felt like a human being again.

"Maybe I ought to go out tonight," she considered aloud as she pulled on clean underwear and a tank top, letting her locks hang long behind her. "Get a couple of drinks, talk with someone about something other than company policy," she mumbled to herself, walking out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. "Who knows, kid, you just might get..." Maddox stopped mid-sentence as the cool breeze from the open window hit her damp skin. She looked immediately to the window with its view of the brick wall right across the alley and then whipped around to stare directly into another wall: the broad chest of a figure dressed head to toe in black. "Lucky," she whispered, finishing her thought as her eyes trailed all the way up the chest, neck and face of the man standing directly before her.

At well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a naturally muscular build there was no mistaking the man in front of her for anyone else. Dressed in black cargo pants, a black tank top and military issue boots he looked almost exactly the same as he had the last time she'd seen him. His skin was still dark, his head shaved almost bald and a self assured, feral smirk played on his lips. Only the sleek black goggles obscuring his eyes from view were different. It was like being in the presence of a memory that had suddenly come to life.

"Well, well, well," the man spoke in a familiar gravelly voice. "What do we have here, hm?" He took a step closer so that their bodies were nearly touching, towering over the woman before him by several inches. "Looks like someone's come home from the corps," he said and walked around her slowly, looking her over from head to toe, lifting up one of her still wet dreadlocks. Behind her he stopped and leaned forward, inhaling deeply of her scent, just inches away from burying his face into the back of her hair. Instead he pushed those locks aside, freeing up her neck, shoulder and face to his view. Maddox was sure that he could see her pulse racing in her neck where her heart was beating so hard. "Fresh out of the shower and looking to get lucky tonight, huh, Kincaide?" He leaned down as he spoke, his breath warm against her ear.

Maddox thought she was going to pass out. She couldn't move. She was frozen still by fear and disbelief. Her hands, limp at her sides, were suddenly damp with sweat and shaking very slightly.

"Riddick," she whispered, almost exhaling his name.

"That's right, sunshine," he murmured back. "Daddy's home." His arm wrapped around the front of her body and she finally felt him touch her, savoring the strong grip of his hand as he seized a hold of her jaw and throat, tilting her head further to the side. His other hand gripped onto the edge of her hip, pulling her back on the hard planes of his form so that she was pinned up against him. She heard him growl as his lips and nose grazed slowly along the open curve of her neck. His grip on her jaw tightened as he pulled her head further to the side. "You know, I've dreamed of this smell," he said against her skin. "Flesh, soap, a little bit of sweat." She felt the slight pressure of teeth sliding over the crook of her neck while his grip on her grew even stronger. "I could tear you apart, Kincaide..."

She let out a little gasp and swallowed thickly. The hand that had gripped her hip roamed slowly elsewhere, sliding over the flat, muscled expanse of her stomach and then beyond. Maddox was having trouble breathing. She just couldn't say whether that was because of his hold on her jaw or because of his hand moving over the rest of her body. _Whoa,_ her brain said suddenly, spurring itself into reason.

"They sent you to the slam," she said, her voice coming out meeker than she had intended it to. He didn't seem to pay much mind to that though. By the heat that was radiating from behind her and the way his mouth and hand continued to rape her senses, she was fairly certain he wasn't paying much attention to anything she said. "You're supposed to be in Ursa Lu-," her voice caught in her throat as his hand slid lower beneath the hem of her underclothes. Rational thought was becoming increasingly difficult. Then again, so was standing.

"That's it," he whispered directly into her ear. "Just lean back, sunshine." For a moment Maddox gave in to the deep voice rumbling right next to her and the warm hands that were in the process of playing her nerve endings like a harp. She reached up behind her with trembling hands, feeling the slight stubble that covered his shaved head and the odd goggles that he wore. _This is real,_ part of her realized as she felt him on her own, _this is no dream. He's here. He's just not supposed to be here._

"Wait," she begged at last, trying to pull away from him despite her body's protests. But, strong as she was, Richard was far stronger and seemed to have no intention of letting her go anywhere. "Riddick," she breathed the word even as his fingers remained wrapped around her throat. His other hand continued to work as a distraction beneath her clothes, trying to steal her thoughts away. Maddox gritted her teeth and remained calm, however, staying focused on the questions she had to ask. "You're not supposed to be here. They put you in the slam. What in the holy hell are you doing here?"

She felt his fingers pause momentarily although the grip on her jaw didn't relax in the least. In fact it tightened to the point where she was certain she would bruise from it. "I'm trying to fuck my girl who I haven't seen in almost two years," he growled into her ear, a strange hint of anger or possibly annoyance finding its way into his otherwise rich voice. "But she's too goddamn busy asking me questions to let me do what I want to her." Her eyes rolled back as his fingers slid between her thighs and began to truly drive her to distraction. Quietly she whimpered and writhed back against him, giving up on any further attempt at speech. "I tell you what, Kincaide," he whispered, never pausing in his ministrations. "You give me tonight, let me do whatever I want to you and we'll talk in the morning." Maddox just nodded and then gasped. She felt his chest rumble behind her as he chuckled softly. "That's my girl," he murmured before proceeding to drive her truly insane.

When he had pulled his goggles off to reveal eyes silvered over like mercury Maddox had professed a good bit of curiosity. She had memories of dark brown irises; seeing these mirrored ones now caught her off guard. Between removing clothes and pushing her down on the mattress he managed to explain the need for survival in a place where there truly was no sunlight. "It's called a shine job," he said as he pulled her tank top off and tossed it aside. "Lets me see things in the dark no one else can see." He slipped his hands under the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs. One hand came to rest on her strong thigh as she lay back before him. "So why don't you turn off the lights and let me look at you, Maddox."

She licked her lips and nodded. "Lights off," she called out and the room plunged into darkness. Once more she heard that quiet chuckle of his and felt his body closer to her own.

"My, my, my," he murmured, beginning to run his hands all over her form.

Maddox stared up at him, green eyes slowly growing used to the darkness. "You know, I've dreamed of this so many times," she said, sliding her own hands up across his chest and shoulders. "Part of me thinks I'm dreaming still."

"I'm no dream," he replied, pressing open her thighs with his knee and lowering his weight over her. He ran his fingers through her red locks as her touch continued down his neck and back. It was as if she was mapping his body with her hands, trying to memorize the feeling of each centimeter of his flesh. "This," he whispered as he pressed his mouth to hers. "Is real."

Earlier that day, all Maddox had been able to think about was sleep. For the rest of the night it was the farthest thing from her mind.

_-----------------------------------------------------------------_

"Handshaking procedure commenced, stand by for docking approval," a loud woman's voice said over the intercom. Maddox started awake and jumped to her feet, crouching down in the narrow confines of the electrical corridor. Looking around she was greeted with only darkness and the neon blue glow of rope lights running in sync with the rows of different wires. She sat back slowly in relief as the ship's computerized voice repeated its warning. They were drawing close to the atmosphere she realized as she sank back down to the grating.

_Must have dozed off,_ she thought as she ran her hand up to the side of her neck vividly remembering her dream. All these years and she still dreamt about him at night. It was depressing really; Maddox would bet her dreads that he didn't spend his sleep schedule reliving the good old days. Last she'd heard he had escaped from Butcher Bay and was on the run again. It was amazing that no one had ghosted that son of a bitch yet. But then again, he always had been lucky and their years of training with the Strikeforce probably didn't hurt things either. One of these days the Company would learn to either kill its rogue agents or leave them the hell alone.

The sound of heavy footfalls on the floor up above her pulled Maddox back to the here and now. She had to figure a way out of here as soon as the ship had docked. If she was planning on slipping past the bay crew on Taurus 3 she'd have to move fast and smart. There would be no room for error.

"Handshake accepted," the mechanized woman's voice said over the intercom once more. "Approval for docking granted. Please prepare for atmospheric reentry."

_I hate flying,_ Maddox thought as she listened out and heard nothing but silence. This would be her best opportunity to move freely in the belly of this beast. The slavers would be locked into their seats for a good five minutes while they passed through the turbulent atmospheric pressure fronts before reaching good air below. If she could find a proper exit before they were able to unbuckle then she might be able to hit the ground running as soon as they docked. As soon as the ship began to tremble slightly she scrambled up the electrical hatch, pushed open the panel and launched herself up into the corridor. The long hallway was empty as a tomb. Maddox wasted no time in closing the panel before she began the run to the opposite end of the ship.

Heavy boots that had seen years of wear thumped steadily along the metal floor grating as she made her way towards the stern of the vessel, keeping her ears and eyes sharp for any hint of movement. The vestiges of the drugs in her system made her stomach churn but Maddox ignored the sickly feeling, concentrating instead on remembering the turns she took down the different corridors. The ship they were on must be massive; she figured that it was probably a converted cargo model whose hold had been turned into numerous compartments to hold a different type of "cargo." She hated slavers. Let people rant about pushers or mercs or Company men all they wanted – there was no scum in the galaxy as low as slave runners.

At last she rounded a corner just as they hit a severe bout of turbulence so rough that it almost threw her off her feet. She grabbed a hold of a bar on the side of the wall as the ship vibrated hard and then rocked from side to side as though it was threatening to fishtail. The sickness in her stomach threatened again and she fought it back; a couple of years ago this would have been considered tame compared to the drop-ins they would have pulled in the Strikeforce. Pure freefall for almost a minute in a huge steel vessel was like a drug for some of the adrenaline junkies she had worked with. They always knew they had a good recruit on their hands when he could actually enjoy the drop instead of forcing everyone to look at what he had for lunch.

At last the shaking stopped and Maddox straightened herself, taking a good look at her surroundings. The bar she had caught a hold of was not just a bar, it was a rung on a ladder that looked to head up through the hull. "Hot damn," she muttered and smirked, grabbing the rung and beginning to climb up the narrow opening. Sure enough, at the end of the duct there was a small round access door that probably opened onto the top of the ship for maintenance access. She braced herself against the claustrophobia inspiring passage with her back against one wall and her boots against the other. If she could just stay here until they docked then everything would be okay.

For a few minutes there was continued turbulence that came and went until finally she felt the ship begin to slow some. "Please prepare for docking," the woman's voice said over the speakers and then Maddox felt a heavy jolt rock the ship as the landing gear hit the ground. "Artificial gravity disengaged," the voice said and Maddox suddenly felt lighter as the natural weight of a planet's pull replaced the ship's system. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Soon she would be free.

Below she could hear the sound of voices and heavy footsteps coming closer, heading towards the rear hatch. She prayed to whatever gods would listen for the crew to hurry up and leave. Although she was stalwart and could probably stay like this for a good hour or so, she did not want to risk the possibility that someone might just look up. Closing her eyes she slowed her breathing and concentrated on her heart, listening to the constant beat of the blood through her veins. She felt the metal walls against her back through the thin fabric of her shirt and the bolts holding the panels together. She thought about the prayers she had been taught growing up in the monastery on Altair and the about the way it would feel to be clean again. She thought of everything she could to keep her mind off of the danger of the situation she was in.

When she came up from this meditative state for air everything was silent. She strained to listen to hear voices or footsteps, any sign that there might be someone coming, but all that met her was the hum of the ship's electronics. Exhaling slowly she lifted her eyes up and murmured another prayer. This time it was one of thanks.

The small hatch door squeaked slightly in protest at being opened, but Maddox put her shoulder against the door and shoved with all her might until it let loose. A rush of heat and the smell of exhaust washed over her face as she climbed up through the portal. The bay they had docked in was a mammoth structure full of other cargo ships as large as theirs and larger. People moved everywhere bringing equipment, boxes, frozen containers and state-of-the-art cryo sleeping chambers to the different ships. She breathed a sigh of relief. Slipping out in this crowd would be a piece of cake.

Carefully Maddox stood and walked towards the side of the ship. It was a standard Aquilian model cargo transport, just as she thought, and was not so high off the ground that she couldn't slide off the starboard side. She crept carefully until she began to slide and then slipped to the ground, landing in a crouch. A few people glanced in her direction curiously, whispering among themselves about the strange woman emerging from the ship but she just looked in their direction and offered a nod to put them at ease. _Act like you belong here, Kincaide,_ she thought as she brushed off her pants and walked towards the entrance of the hangar where people were moving in and out. She slid her hands into her pockets and set her shoulders back, holding her chin up a little bit. She could feel the air coming in from outside on her face and slowly smiled. The air was cool and beyond it she could see the green of plants growing around the exterior of a nearby structure. It had been so long since she had seen anything green that she found herself wondering what type of plant it was. Maybe she would plant a garden once she had found someplace to settle down; a garden. Yeah. That sounded real nice.

As she stepped over the threshold of the building she looked around and took a deep breath of air. _Freedom,_ she thought. _This is freedom._

She brushed past a group of men walking towards the hangar and nodded to them as well. They met her eyes and looked her over curiously, taking in her red hair and the way she walked. They paused to look her over and then went on to talk among themselves, commenting on the woman who had just passed. Smirking, she continued to walk, enjoying the idea of the attention. It had been a long time since she'd caught a man's attention and not been concerned about where his intentions might lie. She found the feeling both odd and refreshing, a welcome change from the last few years of her life. It looked like it would be a beautiful day.

When Maddox heard a man's voice shout after her, ordering her to freeze she let out a little inward sigh. _Too good to be true,_ the rational, cynical side of her said as she glanced over her shoulder to see the group of men she had just passed running towards her. This time people were staring for a far different reason.

She was surprised at the rush of anger that rolled through her system as she turned towards the East and began to haul ass out of the area. Behind her she could hear shouting and gasps of surprise as her pursuers pushed people out of their way. Logic and thought gave way to survival and Maddox let her instincts take over. The port was on the edge of town in one of the newer districts; even though she had been to Messina on leave years ago, she was certain that the streets had changed a good deal since then. The planet was prospering and construction was up. Good news for the economy, bad news for her escape route.

Maddox's long red locks whipped out behind her as she ran, dodging past pedestrians, small vehicles and other obstacles. Up ahead she could see one of the city's markets and she made a break for the colorful tents and narrow alleys that would inevitably be filled with throngs of people. If she could keep her head down and blend in with the crowd then maybe she could lose them.

The natives of Taurus 3 were clearly from far more exotic stock than Maddox's ancestors as everywhere she looked she was met with men and women with dark complexions and features. No one would possibly mistake her for a local. She even had to crouch down to hide among the crowds of shorter people. Behind her she could still hear the slavers bearing down, pushing shoppers out of the way and shoving through the crowd after her. To the right she caught sight of an alleyway and turned down it swiftly, beginning to sprint once again.

"There she is!" One of the men yelled. She didn't pause to look behind her but instead concentrated on the wall directly in front of her. It had been years since she had done this but even though her mind was uncertain her body was confident she could make it.

Without even slowing down Maddox changed her path towards the wall on the left, jumped, placed one foot firmly against that wall and bounded off of it with enough momentum to force her into the air high enough to grab the top of the wall. She grunted as she pulled herself up and over the brick retainer, dropping onto the ground on the other side. Even though she heard cursing on the other side of the wall and knew that it would take the men a few moments to get over that same barrier she never slowed down, just kept on running. The alleyway turned to the right and she slid around it, hitting the ground still moving and heading back into the heart of the busy city.

What she didn't see was the man on the right side of the buildings who slammed the butt of a makeshift pike into her side.

Maddox snarled in pain and went down, falling onto the ground. Pain radiated out from her kidneys, jerking through her body as she stumbled over. She tried to push through it and roll out of the fall but the others had caught up and she heard them shouting behind her. The man who had hit her grinned down and reached to grab for a handful of her hair. Fast as lightening Maddox caught hold of his wrist and shoved his forearm upward with a sickening "crack" before burying her elbow into his jaw so hard that his teeth broke. The man's screams seemed to only egg her on and, as he fell to his knees on the ground, she used his body to push herself up. By the time the first one of the others began to reach her she was no longer running from them, she was running towards them, holding onto the long metal pole her first attacker had used as though it was a battering ram.

She roared in fury and slammed the sharpened edge of the long pole straight through the stomach of the first man until it came through the other side of his body with a wet, sucking sound. Immediately she dropped to one knee and pressed the pike against the ground as though she were bracing for an oncoming horde. The man who she impaled began to scream, the sounds of his terror and pain mingling with the voice of the first slaver she had injured. People from around the city were also screaming and fleeing in terror. Maddox thought it sounded wonderful.

She lunged for a third man, thoughtless of the man sliding slowly down the metal pole. The group of slavers was certainly caught off guard by this barbaric act and by the time they had come to their senses she was on top of her third victim, bloodying her fists on his face. The remaining two men went to pull her off but they were not quick enough to keep her from leaning down and biting deep into the man's cheek. When they finally grabbed a hold of her arms and hair and wrenched her away, she pulled flesh with her in her teeth leaving a spray of blood across her face, her victim and the dusty ground below them. The fresh dark blood ran down her chin and neck as city guards approached from the market. Kicking, snarling and continuing to fight, she was almost oblivious to the pain of the hypodermic needle that was shoved into her neck. Suddenly she grew dizzy and incredibly tired. She spit the hunk of muscle and skin out of her mouth at the guards in contempt, watching as the man she spat at reviled in horror. The last thing she saw was a heavy fist coming down across her face.

_Way to make an entrance, Maddox,_ her inner voice muttered before she was swept away into oblivion.


	2. One: Prophecy

**Title:** "Chapter One: Prophecy"  
**Author:** Lane  
**Word count:** 5,950  
**Rating:** PG-13. Language and some violence.  
**Summary:** Set directly after tCoR. A new Lord Marshal has been crowned, a plan has come unraveled and the past reveals itself. Riddick, Aereon, Dame Vaako, Wurmkast, Toombs, Logan. But not all at once.

--------------------------------------------

Please read and review. Constructive criticism, comments, congratulations are all welcome. I'm also looking for a beta reader so please, feel free to post if you're willing to be my editor/guinea pig.

There was a time when things had been a lot simpler. Invading armies, worlds being taken over, Necromongers, Furyans, Elementals – it was all just a bit too complicated for Riddick's tastes. He liked the world better when it was black and white, good and bad, hunter and prey. But now, well, now it was nothing but shades of grey.

As he walked he could hear whispers following along behind him, the murmurs of the hordes of Necromongers watching in awe of their new Lord Marshal.

"...A Furyan..."

"...Chosen to ascend the throne..."

"...Fulfilled the prophecy..."

"...Holier than Vaako..."

"...The new prophet..."

He paused in his walk and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men and women behind him. A few of them caught his eye and looked immediately ashamed. Humbly they bowed and backed away before scurrying off like schoolchildren in fear of their headmaster's whip. Part of him reveled in the newfound power, at the smell of fear and worry that washed off of every form he passed by. He had defeated a man who was both revered and reviled across the galaxy and had been chosen, as they said, to ascend the throne. Then again, part of him was disgusted by the very thought of what he had become.

It hadn't always been like this, he considered as he walked out of the Necropolis proper and through the convoluted corridors that lead to his chambers. Despite what his visions had said, despite the words of Aereon, he had not been born a killer. An old friend of his once said that no being was born truly evil, they were made that way through years of practice. Those words had always rung true with him; maybe that was why he had a soft spot for children. The part of him that remembered what it was like to be innocent, hopeful and naïve was still in there somewhere. It had just been hidden away under years of dirt and blood.

He swung the doors to his chambers open and walked inside to see the elemental woman already standing there. A scowl darkened his features as he shut the doors behind him and moved directly towards the flowing creature.

"Your people speak of you with great reverence, Lord Marshal," Aereon said as she took a step back from him, her elegant white gown moving gracefully about her form.

"Soon as we reach Ursa Luna I want you off of this ship," he said, not acknowledging her prior comment. His silvered gaze was cold and the set of his jaw showed that he would brook no argument. The elemental nodded her head slightly as if in acquiescence, yet that faint, almost coy smile continued to play about her lips. For a second longer he stared at her, trying to read what her intentions with him were. But although the woman before him appeared to be transparent she hid whatever her thoughts were very, very well. At last he turned and stalked away from her, moving from the antechamber deeper into his suite of rooms.

"You have fulfilled their prophecies, you know," Aereon said, continuing to follow him, bone white hair trailing along with her robes. "They will worship you stronger than any of the prior Lord Marshals because of that. Your ascension and Zhylaw's destruction will be a catalyst amongst the faithful."

Riddick kept his back to her and ignored her words, beginning the task of removing the armor that he still wore. Had it been only a few hours since the incident had occurred? It seemed as though it had been days ago that he had ordered the Purifiers, priests of the faith, to take Kyra's body and prepare to lay it to rest. As he stripped the dark breastplate from his body and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground he remembered the way her fragile form had crumpled on the Necropolis floor. Dead. Her life destroyed like every other being he had ever touched. Years ago he would have mourned the passing of the young girl whose life he had once saved. These days it just made him feel cold.

"They will be stronger now, Riddick," Aereon pressed, coming closer to him. "More fervent in their beliefs. And you have the opportunity to use that fervor, that zealotry to change the galaxy." He could feel a slight breeze rise on the back of his shoulders where the woman stood behind him. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper of wind. "You have at your disposal a powerful army that could be like a great weapon to mete out justice and put all the stars at balance..."

When he swung around and grasped a hold of the Elemental's throat her eyes widened just long enough to please the beast in him. "So you are capable of fear," he muttered, leaning closer. She smelled of nothing but air and cleanliness and he realized that perhaps that was one of the reasons the woman annoyed him so much. It was almost as though she wasn't even on the same plane of existence as her surroundings. _Wonder if she bleeds air,_ the beast inside of him mused and he found himself chuckling at that thought.

"I am capable of as many emotions as you are, Furyan," Aereon replied back to him coolly, her wintry exterior once more in place. She used the word, the name of his race, like a curse; as though it was a dirty thought that made her unclean to speak aloud. "And just as you do, I keep them hidden well away. We all have weaknesses. Chinks in our armor. It is simply a matter of whether we choose to expose them to our enemies."

Riddick shoved the woman away from him and glared at her as she stumbled once before regaining her graceful composure. "Every weakness I ever had is long dead so don't even begin to think you can manipulate me, Aereon," he said, his voice low and deadly. "You and your people can scheme and calculate all you want and you'll never figure out what makes me tick. You don't know shit about me and you never will." He pointed at her to emphasize his words. "I don't give a rat's ass about your planet, about this galaxy or about whatever you think you can convince me to do with this army of fucking lunatics. You want to balance out the galaxy, do it on your own time. I do not fucking care." He paused to let his declaration sink in. "Now leave."

The woman merely bowed and turned, gliding away. Riddick turned as well, continuing to remove the guards on his arms.

"You are wrong in one thing, Riddick," Aereon said, her voice still calm and light despite their altercation. "Not all of your weaknesses are gone. There are some which live on. After all, it is quite difficult to destroy madness."

Riddick turned around quickly but saw nothing except an empty room with closed doors. "Fucking prophets," he muttered under his breath, discarding the rest of the Necromonger armor he wore.

--------------------------------------------

"There must be more information about him," Dame Vaako murmured as she looked back over the recordings of the Quasi-dead session for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Even though most of the basilica's residents were deep in the meditative sleep of the Necromongers, she could not rest. Each time she closed her eyes all she could see was the former Lord Marshal's body and soul moving as he chose his successor to the throne. A Furyan. A Breeder. A convict whose only thought in life was of his own survival. He cared nothing of the faith or the great voyage to Underverse. He had not even replenished the troops or destroyed the world in their wake. He had sympathy for the humans who remained on that planet and that thought alone made her quake with fury.

For years she had worked to make certain her husband would be named the successor to Lord Zhylaw. She had bargained and manipulated, making certain that other favorites were conveniently sent out onto the front lines of battle or convicted of treason. She had given favors to those who were willing to help her and had even performed certain indiscretions that her husband would never know of. All of these things she had done in the hopes of one day seeing him upon that throne, all of members of the faith bowing before him. And then, when that day came, she would take her place at his right hand and would rule the galaxy through him.

For although her husband was a strong warrior and a beacon of the faith, he was a spineless coward compared to his wife.

Dame Vaako sank back into the chair before the data screen that she looked over. Reaching out, she dragged her finger across the screen and started the recording over once more, listening carefully to what was said.

There had been a bounty out on him. That had been the reason he came to New Mecca in the first place. He had been in several different slams before and broken out multiple times as well. Surely someone in the penal system or the Hunter's Guild would know more about this man who had destroyed her well laid plans.

Long ago, when she had been one of those pitiable creatures, one of the fully living beings whom she so despised, Dame Vaako had been a woman with many connections. However, in her years of service to her husband and the Lord Marshal's cause she had never drawn upon those things of her past. For one, she had never needed to; of what use was information of the living galaxy to those who were beyond such things? But she had also grown distasteful of dealing with humans and the living races.

There was a certain smell and a heat that came from a Breeding man or woman which made her lips curl in disgust. She was above such things. She was enlightened. Like Pygmalion reversed, she had started out human and become something better: a statue of beauty and strength to be worshiped. In her near-death state she had ascended from the mortal plane and, for that very reason, she worshiped the cause wholly. It was for this reason that she absolutely must make certain that the Necromonger faith remained pure and untouched by this Breeder. For destroying her plans, she would make him suffer.

Plans needed to be laid. New plans. This would mean something she had not done in years – contact the world outside the hallowed halls of the Necropolis. If she was lucky then her old sources would still be alive. Lucky? No. If she were blessed. Luck was for mortals.

She reached out and paused the recording, staring at the still frame of the man struggling against the Quasi-Deads. Leaning back in her chair she steepled her fingers together and continued to study the image, enjoying the look of torment on his face. Slowly she smiled and closed her eyes, burning the sight into her memory.

Death would be too good for him. Death was a release from all pain and worldliness. By the time Dame Vaako was finished with him, he would be begging for the Underverse.

--------------------------------------------

Wurmkast laughed as he looked at the man in the tiny cage, his voice echoed by the laughter of his crew.

"I think perhaps that he has found his home, no?" The thin, pale merc said, grinning broadly. All around him the hellhounds snarled and growled, trying to snap at the men in the kenneling room. For his own part Toombs just offered a one finger salute and an unamused frown.

"How bout you shut the fuck up and let me out of here, Wurm," he replied, his own voice close to a growl.

Wurmkast was not a large man, perhaps only 5'9" tall, but that slight stature was belied by a great sense of power. Lean and long-limbed, he moved and looked like a tiger stalking its prey. But it was his pallid complexion and almost ivory colored hair that truly made him stand out. His eyes were so pale a blue that many who met him thought him to be blind; he sometimes perpetuated this rumor by wearing a thin black strip of fabric across his eyes and carrying a walking cane to Guild meetings. Among many in the galaxy he had earned the nickname of "Geist" along with a reputation for madness and cold efficiency.

"But you look so comfortable," Wurmkast said, continuing to smirk at Toombs. His words were thick with an accent of some sort, a hint of his privileged upbringing on Earth. "It must be like seeing your mother all over again."

"Why you son of a..." Toombs lunged forward, causing his cage to shake. This only excited the hellhounds more, causing the creatures to lift up their snouts and begin to howl. Wurmkast and his crew began to laugh again and the ghostly man leaned his head to join the creatures in their howling. _That is one crazy mutherfucker_, Toombs thought as he leaned back again.

But crazy or not, Wurm was his only way out of here. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in this cage, maybe two days, maybe more, but he knew that despite his brave show he was in bad condition. Dehydrated, malnourished, scratched up by those damn hellhounds. Hell, he was lucky to be alive at all. Given Riddick's history with mercs, Toombs was surprised the man hadn't just ghosted him on sight.

"In our field of work there are a limited number of paydays worth the cost of the chase," Wurm said, sinking down onto his haunches before Toombs' cage. "But there seems to be an infinite number of mercenaries trying to get rich off of them. The way I see it, you are a competitor. You are one more person in between me and my next big score. So, why don't you give me one good reason why I should let you out of here, Toombs? Why in the hell shouldn't I just leave you in here to rot?"

"Because I know where the biggest bounty this side of the galaxy is and where he's heading to," Toombs said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "And if you get me out of here then I'll be more than willing to cut you in on the chase."

Wurm laughed and stood up straight, brushing dirt off of his brown leather pants. "Oh really?" He asked, looking around at his comrades with a cocky grin. "And just how much is this bounty for?"

"One point five million big ones," Toombs replied, staring directly at him. The laughter that the crewmen had been sharing died down quickly and even the pale merc turned to look at the captive with a new curiosity.

"No one offers that much of a bounty," he said, crossing his arms. "Who is this on? And why haven't I heard of it?"

"Well, maybe you just ain't got your Guild dues in on time, pretty boy," Toombs said and smirked. "Or maybe the Guild got wise on the fact that you've ghosted as many mercs as the convicts." Wurm's eyes narrowed almost imperceptably at the accusation but that was enough for Toombs to notice it. _So the rumors were true,_ he thought as he sat back in his cage, keeping up the cool facade. It had been talked about for years that Wurm's rivals had an alarming propensity for ending up dead at the hands of bounties they were chasing but no one in the Guild was ever able to pin anything on him. Regardless, he was dangerous and Toombs was taking a huge chance by putting any amount of faith in him now. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

"Perhaps my systems have merely been misinformed," Wurm said, scratching idly at a small, silvery pink scar on the side of his mouth. "Tell me more about this bounty."

"Nu-uh," Toombs said, shaking his head. "No more info until you let me out of here and promise to drop me off on the next civilized world."

"Perhaps if you do not tell me I will leave you here to rot," Wurm murmured, his voice quiet as he stared at the caged man, clearly trying to read him. The Earther might be good, but Toombs hadn't lived this long without being able to keep up a bluff either.

"That's a chance I'm willing to take, sweetheart," he replied in a flippant tone.

Wurmkast fell silent for a moment, considering the deal. He also considered the man before him, sitting in the tiny cage. He had no love lost for Toombs. He had meant what he said about competition; outside of his small, well-trained crew, Wurm had little use for other mercs and would just as soon ghost another member of the profession as he would a convict. But Toombs was in a desperate situation and he could see right through his act. The man smelled wretched and looked even worse. He'd probably been here for a few days at least judging by the thinness of the beasts around him. Whatever happened to the Russians wasn't good and, without them around to keep order down below, the whole slam had probably devolved into a free for all.

There was a chance that Toombs could be lying to him, but it was slim. The other mercenary would probably trade in his own mother for freedom at this point. Besides, if he was lying, then Wurmkast could always just space him and no one would be the wiser for it.

"Very well," Wurm said and motioned for one of his boys to unlock the cage. "We will let you out and carry you to Helion Prime. In exchange for this you will give us all the information you have on this payday. This is understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. Just get me out of this hell hole," Toombs said. He didn't trust Wurm as far as he could throw him, but with his skiff gone and his crew wasted, he didn't see much of a choice otherwise.

It took a few minutes to get the lock off of the cage, but at last Toombs was free, albeit a little bit shaky on his feet. He shrugged it off though, doing his best to keep up the stone cold facade and act like it was all cool. And yet he still couldn't shrug the nagging feeling that this was all just another part of an elaborate setup.

"So why the hell are you ladies down here anyway?" He asked Wurmkast as the pale man began to lead them out of the belly of the slam. "Come to cash in and found out that the bank had already been robbed?"

"Not exactly," Wurm said, walking ahead of the group, a large shotgun slung over his shoulder. "There was a distress signal coming from the tower. Yorgi, one of the guards, was a comrade of mine and, as we were in the neighborhood, we decided to check on the situation. All we found were a bunch of dead bodies, some damage to the tower and your sorry ass." He paused. "Oh, and a woman." He turned to glance at Toombs. "I believe she is one of yours, no?"

Toombs' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Logan's alive still, eh?" He asked, both shocked and slightly relieved. She had seemed like a good kid when he took her on crew, he would have hated the thought of her dying like the others.

"Oh yes, very much so," Wurm replied, continuing to walk until at last they reached the main room of the tower. He pointed towards the control console that looked as though it had been torn open and rewired. "She was the one who rigged the signal up." He smirked smugly and reached out to pat Toombs' face in a condescending manner. "Looks like you got saved by a little girl, Toombs."

This set off another round of raucous laughter as they rounded the corner into the long corridor that lead to the surface. There in the passage laid Eve Logan, looking a little bit worse for wear but at least alive and in one piece. She was laid out on a stretcher next to a large woman who reminded him suspiciously of a former pilot of his named Daisy.

"You look like shit, Logan," Toombs rasped. The woman smiled up at him weakly.

"And you smell like it," she returned before looking back at the merc playing nurse to her wounds.

"She will be alright," the female merc said to Wurmkast and Toombs. "But she is hurting. We will have to carry her to the ship."

"Krieg, Spencer," Wurm called out and two men stepped forward. "Why don't you carry the pretty lady to her suite?" The men mumbled something to their captain in a foreign language and nodded, picking up either end of the stretcher. Then, with Wurm in the lead, they began the long trek back towards the hangar.

"You owe me one, Toombs," Logan said quietly as he walked along side of her. The man reached down briefly to touch the hand of the only remaining member of his crew and nodded.

"I owe you a helluva lot more than that," he mumbled and gave her a lopsided smirk. The worst part was that he knew just how true that statement was.

The trek up through the tunnel was no small journey. Even if he had been in perfect shape Toombs would have been panting by the time they reached the hangar. But with no food for several days and only the water that he had bummed off the other mercs, he wasn't certain he would make it at all. When they finally reached the end of the passageway he thought he would never be so happy to see the beginnings of a sunrise on Crematoria. _Well,_ he thought, _at least I won't have to worry about this run any more._

The sight of Wurmkast's ship did nothing to help Toombs' disposition. The craft was a midsized Helion model that looked as if it had just rolled off the assembly line. Except that the heavy cannons in the fore and aft that peeked out unassumingly from beneath the craft were definitely not standard. Sleek, shiny and dripping with chromed metal, the vessel just cemented his hatred of the other merc. He'd lost two skiffs in as many weeks to the same goddamn convict and seeing this smug bastard showing off his bright new toy made the man green with envy. If he ever had the opportunity, Toombs swore to himself that he'd make a true _geist_ out of the blue blooded Earther.

Inside, the craft was as swanky as the exterior; clean as a military vessel but with a whole lot more headway. As the crew made their way into the ship Wurmkast stopped just inside the door and held his arm across the threshold, barring Toombs from entering. In the distance he could feel the sun beginning to rise over the horizon and just the thought of it was enough to make the back of his neck break into a sweat.

"Tell me more about this bounty," Wurm said. Positioned as he was on the inside of the ship with Toombs still on the bay door the pale man was now able to look down ever so slightly at his quarry.

"I'll tell you about it once we're in the air," Toombs said, moving to brush past him. Wurm moved to intercept the taller man and gave him a cold, hard stare that spoke volumes. One hand remained on the door of the vessel while his other hand rested lightly on his hip. Toombs glanced down briefly and noticed the large gun there. The muscles in his jaw drew tight and he glared at Wurm as though he could eat him alive.

"I think that you will tell me now," Wurmkast said, his voice never rising. If he was the least bit concerned about the approaching VTF, he wasn't showing it. Hell, he wasn't even sweating.

Toombs licked his lips. "Helion Prime," he said tightly, jaws still clenched. "Your bounty was headed to Helion Prime. Same place as where the payout's coming from. Private party, and before you ask, no, I don't know who it is. Info gave a means of contact but not much more." He held his hands apart. "Now let me on board. It's gettin' a little warm out here."

Casually Wurmkast looked towards the horizon and then back down at Toombs, tilting his head to the side. "What is his name, hm?" He asked, still not moving.

Toombs growled and stepped closer to Wurm, mindless of the weapon on his hip. He had been jerked around enough over the last month to last a lifetime and he'd be goddamned if he was going to let some cocky little albino midget piss all over him. "Richard B. Riddick's his name," he said, his face so close to Wurm's that their noses almost touched. "Now, if you don't let me on this goddamned ship and take me and my crewmate to Helion Prime then there won't be any of us leaving this piece of shit planet, you hear me?"

Slowly Wurm smiled and removed his arm from the doorway. "Please, come inside," he said and turned to walk off further into the ship. "I will consider you and your woman my guest. Make yourselves comfortable. Alicia will set up a bed for you."

Toombs walked inside at last and exhaled in relief for the first time in days. He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, rubbing away the ache of stress, hunger and fatigue.

"Oh, and Toombs?" Wurm's voice could still be heard even though he had rounded the corner. "Your woman is right. You do smell like shit."

Toombs just grumbled and flicked him off before stalking away in the opposite direction.

One of the small cabins in the ship had apparently been set aside for Toombs and Logan as the only two women on the flight were already inside there. The woman, presumably the Alicia whom Wurm had referred to, sat on the bed next to Eve who had been rolled over onto her side. The remains of Eve's shirt had been cut clear up the back to reveal the damage underneath, which Alicia was currently investigating. A witty comment sprung to his mind at the sight of two women sitting on the same bed together but, given the large gash and deep purple and green bruise covering most of Eve's torso, he figured he ought to keep his mouth shut if he planned to survive the night.

"Well," the tall blonde woman said, pausing briefly to glance up at Toombs as he entered the room. "You don't have any infection around your wound and whatever internal bleeding you had seems to have stopped. No broken bones, although I suspect one of your ribs may be bruised. All in all I'd say you're one lucky gal," she surmised, smiling a little bit. "I think we've got some antibiotics and enough meds to keep the swelling down and help you heal faster. You're just going to have to stay off your feet for a few days."

"She's one tough bitch, alright," the lone man said. Both of them women grew silent and then Eve chuckled quietly.

"That's the closest to a compliment I'm gonna get," she murmured to her nurse who just smirked at her. Toombs rolled his eyes and sat down on the narrow cot across from the one they sat on. He could barely feel the ship moving beneath them and realized that they were probably out of the atmosphere by now. _I have got to get me one of these_, he thought as he lay back against the cot. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion came over him and he realized just how much he had been through in the last few days. Closing his eyes he gave in to sleep at last.

When at last he woke up he could see Logan across the way staring at him. Yawning, he rubbed at his face, scratching at the scruff that had grown in.

"How long I been asleep?" He mumbled.

"You've been snoring for about twelve hours, I'd reckon," Eve replied. She wore a different shirt now but she was still laid on her stomach to keep pressure off of her back. "I thought you were dead," she said, her voice quiet.

"Yeah, same for you, kid," he said, sitting up straight. "How is it that we both got left alive by one of the baddest mutherfuckers in the galaxy when he could have easily ghosted our asses back on that rock?"

Logan shook her head, a frown forming on her features. "That's what I've been trying to figure out the last few days," she murmured before turning to lie on her side with her back towards him. Toombs stared at the curve of her back for a long time but he still couldn't shake that question from his brain.

Elsewhere in the ship another man sat awake in the cockpit, staring blankly down at the screen of information downloaded from the Mercenary's Guild. The 3D image of the killer rotated slowly on the panel before the man's eyes along with all known information about him. Above it all in yellow letters was a single line, **"Wanted: Richard B. Riddick."**

It had been years since Marcus Wurmkast had heard that name. The last he had heard Riddick had been declared dead in a shipwreck on some backwater planet along with that golden boy asshole Johns. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and held the smoke in before slowly exhaling in the direction of the screen he stared at. The picture from New Mecca was at least five years old, but Wurmkast would bet that the man hadn't changed all that much since then. With the exception of those shiny new goggles and a few more creases around his mouth the dark skinned convict looked exactly the way he remembered him.

Back in the day Richard had been the pride and joy of the Strikeforce, the youngest gunnery sergeant ever assigned to serve in the Strikeforce squad. He was good with a gun but better with a knife; an excellent survivalist, tactician and a charismatic leader par none. Everyone in the corps on Sigma 3 knew his name and his laugh. He was the sort of soldier that a man wanted watching his back in the middle of a firefight and the type of man that women would swoon over. Even in those days Marcus couldn't stand him.

Marcus had been raised by a wealthy family on Earth that came from old money. When The Company had first been created, the Wurmkasts were among the original investors, helping to send mankind to new worlds and systems. They had gained a fortune by investing in bright new futures, planets rich in minerals, worlds with clean air, and then harvesting those resources with cheap labor. So when Marcus graduated with top honors from the Berlin Military Academy it was expected that he would slip easily into an officer's position somewhere in The Company's military division. Handsome, rich and educated, he had been given everything life had to offer. A cushy job on Sigma 3 was simply expected.

There was always a bit of a rivalry between the pair even when they were comrades. He would not go so far as to say that they were ever truly friends; Richard was an orphan who had worked his way up in the Company ranks and a bit too coarse for Marcus' tastes. But still Wurmkast regarded him with a sense of noblesse oblige, even when it became clear that he was sleeping with another member of the squad. He hated the way they looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching and how everyone else at the base overlooked their indiscretions. When Richard was chosen over Marcus for the promotion to squad leader, well, that was the final insult.

It took two years to get enough dirt on him to plan his attack but Wurmcast was a patient man. It was Corvus who gave him the ammo he needed to take down his rival, even though their squad mate never knew as such. One night when he had been out drinking Corvus returned to the base babbling about some secret Riddick had found out, something terrible The Company was involved in, and how he was planning to stop them from doing it. A little bit of footwork was all it took to find out what it was some of the Strikeforce had tripped over - experimental DNA procedures being tested on slaves in the Newtonian Institute. Apparently their "noble leader" had become so incensed at what he saw that he had loudly threatened to blow the story to the Inter Galactic Media, a move that would surely bring The Company under fire by the Tabula Prima. Marcus thought of his family, the money and time they had invested in The Company, the good which had been done across the galaxy, and he became livid at the thought of all of it being sacrificed by the self-righteousness of a single man.

Without telling any of his squadmates, Marcus went to the highest ranking officer on the base. His familial connections had given him certain rights outside the chain of command and so it was easy to make certain that the correct people knew of Riddick's plan. Two days later, when the MPs came for him with charges of corporate espionage and plotting to kill a commanding officer, Wurmkast looked as shocked as everyone else. But by the time Richard was court-martialed and sent to a max sec slam, well, he remembered smiling a little bit as he watched them lead his former Sergeant out of the courtroom in chains.

After that Marcus was given a much better promotion as leader of his own squad on a far more civilized world. When he finally retired from military life it was with full honors as a decorated veteran and with enough of a pension to hire the finest damn crew of mercs the Guild had ever seen. He no longer needed to rely on his family's name or fortune. He had built his own.

Sitting back, he propped his boot up against the console and brushed off a fleck of ash on its polished surface. He was more than willing to take the hit by turning this bounty in dead. It would be well worth it to be able to physically plunge his knife into the back of his old enemy.


End file.
